Posts Tagged ‘treasures’

Cleaning out the basement doesn’t yield much discovery these days. Though we’ve lived in our house for coming on nine years this November, I’m proud to report more items have made their way out than in; even with three girls underfoot.

The boxes my husband and I just can’t get rid of – text books from university- are slowly making their way to recycling. But it’s hard to part ways with monoliths from biology classes that cost upwards of $100 when you bought them new in the 90s, or a library of Shakespearian plays with your prized notes written in the columns.

Even though I know, like the plays themselves, my notes are timeless and will help future thespians through high school lit, it’s time to face the music: if I’m not going to crack open Word Carving, Great Stories from the Prairies, or anything that involves dissecting plays, as in theatrical productions, what makes me think someone else under this roof will?

The same can be said for the myriad of tennis, gymnastics and biology textbooks belonging to a certain male member of our household.

Betcha can’t guess what our majors were.

The box I unearthed this afternoon was filled with novels from my teen years. And though none of my girls understood how delicious it was to hold upbooks written by Eric Wilson, Christopher Pike, and Brian Doyle, they were curious to know what a Choose Your Own Adventure book was like, and were keen to listen to chapter one, book #2, of The Babysitter’s Club: Claudia and the Phantom Phone Calls.

Side note: I always related the most to Claudia, the artist, who liked to eat red licorice while she read Nancy Drew mysteries. Like Claudia, I too drooled over a boy or two in grade seven, so we might wait another year or so before Miss Q dives into the series.

Same with Sweet Valley High, for now way beyond the trio’s scope, but one day I hope they sit with Jessica and Elizabeth Wakefield for a summer or two.

And while on the subject of books, there has been a great metamorphosis in our house this summer: Miss Q has turned into a bonafide bookworm. She’s always enjoyed being read to, but now she’s taking it to an all new level and curling up with a book – alone.

The amazing part isn’t that she’s inhaling books, it’s that she’s comprehending what she’s reading. “Do you want to hear something hilarious?” she begins, then without waiting for a response, out rolls a detailed description of the plot and crazy characters she’s stumbled upon.

My husband is re-reading her book two of Harry Potter at bedtime. They’ve gone up to book four, and now they’re doing it all again. He doesn’t mind. Whatever the girls bring him, he reads with little complaint, he’s amazing like that.

My husband is currently working his way through book five of Harry Potter, and has now deemed Harry too angry for Miss Q’s ears, at least this summer. He really wants to sink his teeth into book two and three of the Gentlemen Bastard Series by Scott Lynch, but had started Harry Potter before he received them, so now he must read quickly.

As for me, I haven’t had much time for reading, not because of the stereotypical obvious; but because after nine years, three babies, and two major re-writes at the suggestion of editors, one of the novels I’ve been chipping away at is complete.

Maybe in August as I’m waiting for a publisher to bite, I’ll have added something more than P.B. Bearto my summer reading list.

We’ve had this conversation before all of her playdates this month. It’s not that she, Miss Q, is sick, or doesn’t want to play. She’s all for having friends over. The fact that all her animals come down with ailments, moments before her friend arrives, can be explained with one word: possessiveness.

For example, last Wednesday, Miss Q lay twenty, or so, of her stuffies on the couch, then proceeded to sit in her doll’s stroller in front of said couch. Her friend took no notice of her and played.

I’ve tried to ignore her – if she’s going to be silly, then she could be silly. But, it’s so hard watching her sit, so I often resort to coaxing her into play – with no avail. Whatever I bait her with, she hurriedly does and returns to her post.

Miss Q has no problems sharing, if asked, though sometimes she’s crafty. If I ask her to find her friend a toy, she’ll leave her perch, and race to the shelf. She either come back with a toy, she hasn’t played with for ages, or a random kitchen utensil from her Fisher Price kitchen. There have been a few occasions when she’s returned with a stuffy – but never the dear ones. The only person she’s conscientious about sharing her dear toys with is Miss S. This is lovely and heartwarming, but it would be nice if it extended to her friends.

I can empathize with her possessiveness – she may come by it honestly. As my friend reminded me today, “You still don’t like sharing your pillow.” That is true. I don’t even like my husband breathing on it. (Shiver.)

So today, I told Miss Q that she could pile 10 toys on my bed. Those 10 toys were off limits during the playdate; Miss Q’s friend would play with the other toys in the house, and when she left, the toys would stay.

Brilliant plan. Limited success.

Miss Q flew around the house gathering her precious stuffies and some random things she couldn’t live without – like the base of a Koosh Ball. I ended up giving her 2 bonus toys, for 12 total. We then piled some toys on the coffee table for her friend to play with – I made sure they were ones Miss Q actually played with, though she snuck in salad tongs.

Her friend came, played and left empty handed.

Miss Q watched, stockpiled, shared when asked, and finally took to wandering around with her friend. I believe the latter was in order to keep an eye on her possessions.

The treasures were collected from my bed, after Miss Q’s friend left, including a cat I’d forgotten to return after confiscating it earlier this week. Sharing is hard when you’re two; it’s hard when you’re 32.

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Me

I enjoy watching soccer in the rain. Most of our crafts involve glitter, finger paint or both. I am learning to eat my vegetables. And, whether in socks or bare feet, I absolutely hate stepping on Lego. Here I blog about life with my three little girls, husband and dog.